


Springtime Thaw

by Anglofile



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglofile/pseuds/Anglofile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of The Hounds of Baskerville, Lestrade returns to London to confront Mycroft Holmes about what he knew and didn't know when Mycroft sent him to Dartmoor. He ends up learning far more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Springtime Thaw

_Greg Lestrade is married, happily so when they first meet. Mycroft refrains from telling him she is not. A kindness he’s sure his brother will not extend._

_  
_

_So he waits, frozen in time and waiting, as ever, for someone to catch up._

_  
_

_The courtship of a Holmes is swift, one of the most potent side effects of their brand of observation. His counterpart, not yet cognizant of his more than minor position in Mycroft Holmes’ heart, may yet become uncomfortable at the speed in which Mycroft will make him his, but he has every confidence he’ll put his love at ease._

_  
_

_And then in March, when flowers begin to bud and the earth warms, Greg Lestrade takes off his wedding ring. And the thaw around the elder Holmes brother begins._

 

**March 16th, 2012**

 

“Hallucinogenic drugs. In the fucking air Mycroft. Tell me you didn’t know.”

 

Mycroft looked down at the hand that had just been slammed unceremoniously on his desk. He stood up, calmly smoothing his waistcoat as he walked around to face the man before him.

 

“Good evening to you as well. If you’d prefer we could adjourn-“

 

Gregory Lestrade’s nose came perilously close to his own. “TELL ME.”

 

“The H.O.U.N.D. Project had been canceled years ago. Of course I didn’t know. Do you really think I would have sent you to check on him if I did?”

 

Lestrade clenched his teeth. “Would you?”

 

Mycroft's gaze dipped to the left. Of course he would have sent him. He trusted Gregory Lestrade. He knew Sherlock would, albeit reluctantly, accept his help.

 

“Yes.”

 

Lestrade stepped back, shaking his head. “There are times I don’t think I know you, the real you at all, Mycroft. All I can see is the suit that sends his dog off with minimum information to do his bidding.”

 

Greg's remark stung and later, when he had a chance to relive the pivotal moment, he’d blame Greg’s anger for muddying his own thoughts.

 

“You don’t know me.”

 

Lestrade gave him a curt nod, his upper lip curled sardonically, and mocked him with an added tug to an imaginary forelock.

 

“Right then, Master Holmes, I’ll be off to sleep in the stables, sir. Sir, thankee, sir for the straw for my bedding. I’ll sleep right warm at night I will.”

 

Greg turned and made his way to the door.

 

This was a moment that Mycroft never cares to think about later, about all the ways he could have stayed silent, and let Greg walk out that door. He stepped forward.

 

“Greg, I misspoke. No one knows me, not-“

 

His name stopped Lestrade in his tracks. Slowly, his heart suddenly beating harder and faster than it had before, he turned around.

 

“What did you call me?”

 

Mycroft’s chin jutted forward as he hurriedly gathered what remained of his outer protective shell of indifference.

 

“Detective Inspector-“

 

Greg held up a hand.

 

“No, you called me Greg. You’ve never called me Greg. Detective Inspector, Lestrade if we weren’t discussing work, but you’ve never called me Greg.”

 

Mycroft instinctively wanted to take a step back. He’d revealed too much, a mistake that would have anyone beneath him let go. A misstep, possibly fatal.

 

“We’ve known each other for six years and as I wanted to get your attention-“

 

Greg was shaking his head even while Mycroft spoke.

 

“I may not be a Holmes,” he returned gruffly, “but I can figure things out on my own once in awhile. Something’s changed, you-“ Greg’s eyes cleared, all confusion gone. “Oh.”

 

He slowly began to corner Mycroft against the wall. “I see.”

 

Mycroft stared him down, hoping his last weapon, intimidation, still held any merit.

 

“How long?”

 

Caught. Surrender the better part of valor then.

 

Mycroft’s eyes closed tight as he swallowed against a surge of emotion that threatened to swamp him.

 

“From the beginning.”

 

Greg nodded slowly, in full knowledge that one step the wrong way could end this.

 

“Mycroft.” His voice was soft.

 

It might as well have been a command.

 

Mycroft opened his eyes, met the dark brown ones staring into his own.

 

“I may not have…not from the beginning, but I’m hardly a Holmes, am I? And Christ I was married, I thought happily, and…”

 

Mycroft waited, frozen.

 

Greg was clearly agitated. Listening could be just as powerful as talking in the right situation.

 

Greg shook his head, frustrated. Mycroft knew how he felt.

 

“You know what? Fuck it.”

 

Lips finally met. Opened. Kissed. Arms wrapped around each other. It seemed someone finally caught up.

 

And the Ice Man is no more.


End file.
